A Saturday morning

sometime this summer, a classical trumpeter moved into my building (or the one across the street). Their tone is excellent, so hearing them practice is quite pleasant, especially since it bears the sense-memory of waiting for the symphony or opera to begin.

i've been on the balcony with my spinning, enjoying the fine day and listening to an audiobook of The Letter of Marque. plus the aforementioned trumpet. and the occasional dog singing along.

it's more pleasant than you might think.